The Philadelphia Orchestra came to Carnegie Hall on Tuesday night, with an ambitious and unusual program. Under music director Christoph Eschenbach, the orchestra – with the Philadelphia Singers Chorale, and a variety of soloists – offered the final work of the late Luciano Berio, and Act III of Wagner’s “Parsifal.” This is a far cry from the overture-concerto-symphony format (not that there’s anything wrong with that format, believe me).

Luciano Berio was an Italian composer who died last year at 77. His interests were wide-ranging, but he was an apostle of musical modernism. Many were in awe of him; others could not quite see the genius. Your opinion of Berio generally will probably determine your opinion of his last composition, “Stanze” (“Rooms”). This piece is utterly Berio-like. It was commissioned by the Orchestre de Paris, another band of which Mr. Eschenbach is music director.

“Stanze” is scored for baritone soloist and three men’s choruses (in addition to orchestra, of course). Using five poems, in three languages, it comments on the century recently expired, and it comments bleakly. (To be sure, there is a lot to be bleak about, where the 20th century is concerned.) Although “Stanze” is a new piece, it will be familiar to anyone who listens to contemporary music: It is despairing, horrified, conjuring either a barren or a beset landscape. It is an end-of-the-world piece.

Of special interest is the fourth section, which employs a poem of Alfred Brendel, the pianist. The words play on a Johann Strauss piece – the “Tritsch-Tratsch” Polka – and so does the music. We hear some nutty dancing, and also some jazz, or at least jazziness. The poem’s final words are “crack his whip” – and, sure enough, Berio gives us a whip-crack.

Mr. Eschenbach led an attentive performance. It began with a lousy entrance, unfortunately. But the ending drew away beautifully. I should say, however, that Mr. Eschenbach held his hands in the air for a long, long time, to ward off applause. I always argue: If the audience is so spellbound as not to applaud, wonderful – but let’s not create an artificial atmosphere.

The soloist was bass-baritone Andreas Schmidt, who sang accurately and smoothly, and who exhibited a gorgeous head voice. Wisely, he was understated in this music.

After intermission, it was time for Wagner. Where had we left off? Oh, yes: On February 12, 2004, in Carnegie Hall, the Cleveland Orchestra – under Pierre Boulez – performed Act II of “Parsifal.” Before that concert began, my colleague Fred Kirshnit quipped, “You have to wait till next January to hear Act III.” We got it from Mr. Eschenbach and the Philadelphia.

The conductor did some fine things in this mysterious, eternal music. Perhaps I should say what he did not do: He did not preen, he did not milk, and he did not lag. This is not to damn with faint praise; those are important avoidances. His phrasing was not exactly sighing or soaring, but it was clear, reasonable. Ideally, you fall under Wagner’s spell in the course of this music: You forget time and space (at least your own time and space) and enter the Wagner zone. If this happened – to me – on Tuesday night, it was only relatively late (which is better than never).

Gone was the sloppiness that the orchestra had shown earlier in the season. The horns had trouble, but others came through. The strings produced a warm, Philadelphian sound, and the woodwinds combined for some lovely little choirs. The orchestra’s trumpet, toward the end of the act, was startlingly beautiful.

After the final note, Mr. Eschenbach did his hands-in-the-air thing again, but somehow it was less obnoxious (perhaps because less protracted) than at the conclusion of the Berio.

Act III of “Parsifal” features one of the longest and most beautiful stretches for bass in the literature. Our bass – our Gurnemanz – on Tuesday night was Matthias Hoelle. If he was not transporting, he was sturdy: very sturdy. Mr. Hoelle was occasionally underpowered, but you might say that the orchestra was overpowered.

The tenor was John Keyes, who made a quite human Parsifal – not a radiant Parsifal, but a human, touching one. His sound could have been more focused, as his pitch was sometimes difficult to discern; and his diction could have been clearer. But he had plenty of power, and he seemed better – more secure – at the end of the act than at the beginning. This is desirable.

Andreas Schmidt returned to sing the music of Amfortas, which he did with dignity. The Philadelphia Singers Chorale fulfilled its role with composure. And truly remarkable was the appearance of Roberta Knie as Kundry. This character does not have much to do in Act III – some moaning, a couple of notes. But Ms. Knie acted throughout – and her story is noteworthy.

In the midst of a busy – and heavily Wagnerian – career, she had to stop singing, owing to a physical difficulty. This native Oklahoman now teaches in Philadelphia. Her own teachers include Max Lorenz, Eleanor Steber – and Dame Eva Turner. Extraordinary.

I wish to conclude with a (further) side note: Carnegie Hall used its surtitle system for “Parsifal,” to fine effect. It did not use this system for the Berio piece, with its five poems. Shall the surtitles be for opera only? A question – just a minor one – to consider.